


The Voice

by oonymay



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Angst, Canon Universe, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Depression, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kim Joonmyun | Suho-centric, M/M, Mental Health Issues, More warnings in A/N, Panic Attacks, Post-lawsuit, Schizophrenia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 01:37:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11392647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oonymay/pseuds/oonymay
Summary: The Voice has always been there. It's just never been as loud as it is now.





	The Voice

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Depression, panic attacks, implied/referenced self-harm, schizophrenia, discussion of departures of members, coarse language, hospitalisation, eating issues  
> (If any readers find any more warnings that they think I should add, by all means, please tell me. I want to tag this so that people can avoid this if it could cause them pain).
> 
> I'm saying this now: This contains references to topics that may upset people. It discusses some pretty difficult things and goes into detail into things that not everyone will feel comfortable with. Do not read this if you may be triggered by any of the above warnings.  
> I am writing for enjoyment, yes, but I don't want to hurt anyone with my work. 
> 
> What I write in this work - particularly the words of The Voice - do not necessarily reflect my own opinion on anything. This is a work of fiction and I have taken creative liberty with that. 
> 
> If you do choose to read this work: I hope you enjoy it!

_Face the front. Smile_. Junmyeon obeys.  _You're not doing well enough – Your act needs to be more convincing, or else, everyone is going to start asking questions._  

Furtively, Junmyeon casts a glance to his left and then to his right.  _One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Fix. Seven. Eight._ Everyone is there and Junmyeon's stomach curdles and twists into a slowly tightening knot. There is no one close enough to say anything to him.  

The Voice is incessant in its disapproval and it's not the first time, either. It's been there for as long as Junmyeon can remember. It has always been this way – an invisible person to tell him when he’s doing everything wrong and to yell at him for his mistakes.

Junmyeon needs no judges or assessors. The Voice has always been his harshest critic. The only critic that really mattered.

It is the niggling whisper in the back of his mind. His only confident in the darkness of midnight. His friend when he's lonely, even in company. The sole thread attaching him to earth when he wants to drop off the planet and crumple into a ball somewhere where he just doesn't have to exist.

Only, it isn't anymore. Now, The Voice is growing into a terrifying, invisible monster that chases him in ways no one else can see.

Junmyeon remembers when it was his friend. It helped him and made him a better person. It doesn’t do that anymore. It's become his living nightmare. His days and nights are inhabited by a fear. An intense, unforgiving fear. He is drowning.

Junmyeon feels sick.  _Keep fucking smiling_. He pulls his face into a grotesque grimace and stares out at the audience. Thousands of people stare expectantly at him but his mind pulls a blank. He can't recall anything and everyone's still looking and Junmyeon wants to curl into a ball to protect himself from their gazes. 

"Suho-hyung! Your speech?" Junmyeon swings around, looking for the person who said that. That's not his name.  _That's not his name_. Chanyeol is prodding Junmyeon's shoulder and his eyebrows are raised. "Hyung? Where's our leader, today? Off on EXO planet, obviously!" 

Chanyeol is clearly trying to defuse the situation and it works. Ten thousand people laugh in unison and Junmyeon feels his face heat up. His knees tremble and he knows that it's not from the exertion of having just finished the dance segment. 

"Gosh, hyung - Where are you today?" Chanyeol repeats with a forced grin, more vigorously shaking Junmyeon's shoulder. Kyungsoo, who stands on Junmyeon's other side, rests his hand on his back and pinches him subtly. Junmyeon jolts back to earth and joins in with the laughter.

Even without The Voice, he knows it sounds fake. _Not good enough. Too fake._ He resists the urge to scream. He does not need to come across as crazy now.  

Limbs stiff and uncoordinated, Junmyeon raises the microphone to his mouth and begins speaking. The words don't register in his mind, but he knows he is reciting the speech that he has memorised back to front and inside out. What else could it be? Junmyeon’s words are precise and clear, exactly how they're meant to sound. Perfect, just like his image.

It contrasts so strongly to Junmyeon, whose insides have melted into a puddle of soup. It takes all of his effort to remain on his two feet and perhaps, Kyungsoo realises this because he doesn't remove his hand from Junmyeon's back. The pressure is firm but grounding and Junmyeon is thankful for it.

Thunderous applause breaks out in the stadium as Junmyeon finishes his spiel. The eight others on the stage exchange subtle looks and stare at each other, lost without their leader bouncing around the stage as usual. Junmyeon bows deeply, a wordless apology to fans who don't know what's happening and haven't realised anything is wrong. 

Chanyeol and Baekhyun, ever the effortless entertainers that they are, easily take over and begin diverting attention while Minseok rounds on Junmyeon. 

Covering his taped-on microphone with one hand and laying the other one over Junmyeon's hand, he gives a worried look. "Are you okay?" Minseok mouths. 

 _You're fine. You have to be fine. They need you to be fine._  Junmyeon nods his head and gives Minseok the largest, most overly enthusiastic gesture he can force himself to carry out.

Junmyeon prays that the fans who have noticed - if any of them have - will take it as fan service. He dances across the stage towards and just into the wings where he knows the water bottles are waiting. He takes a long drink and waves off a stagehand who approaches him with a questioning expression and a towel. 

Junmyeon takes thirty seconds and composes himself.  _Be better. You can't afford to be this weak, Junmyeon._  He agrees and takes several, strong steps back onto the stage with a renewed grin plastered across his face. Some of the members give him bemused looks, but Junmyeon ignores them. He quickly merges back into the stage atmosphere.

The concert finishes eventually and afterwards, Junmyeon slumps against the wall in their changing room, exhausted and fighting tears.  _Too weak. Not good enough. All you had to do was keep smiling and you even messed that up. Are you sure you deserve to be in EXO? Let alone the leader..._  

Junmyeon turns around, suddenly enraged. There is no one there, but Minseok comes up from behind him and clasps Junmyeon’s shoulder. “Are you okay?” he asks, quietly. The fans are leaving, their microphones are off, they're nowhere near the stage, there is no reason to be quiet, but Minseok has always been a person from privacy.

“Nothing,” Junmyeon says, swallowing heavily. _That’s right – Nothing’s wrong._ “There’s nothing wrong.”

Minseok looks at him, confused. “That’s good?” he says, softly. “But, I asked if you were okay, not if things were wrong.”

Junmyeon bites his tongue, pulling back his retort. He can’t afford to mess up here. He has to hold it in, The Voice be damned. “I’m fine,” Junmyeon finally says, correcting his mistake.

Minseok looks doubtful, but he doesn’t press it. The gentle hand doesn’t leave Junmyeon’s shoulder, though. Junmyeon allows himself to be dragged deeper into the changing rooms.

A short girl comes up to him and begins gingerly scrubbing off the sticky layers of makeup that coat Junmyeon’s face. The sickly smell of sweat and deodorant permeates the room.

 _Debriefing, Junmyeon. Can’t forget that, can we?_ Junmyeon recoils away from The Voice and the girl’s cotton swab rubs harshly across his face. Only later does he realise that you can't run away from your own mind.

She begins to apologise profusely, but Junmyeon brushes her words away with a soft smile and wave of his hand. _So much for friendly leader – You scared that girl half to death._

Junmyeon lets the girl finish her routine and then pulls away, thanking her in a low voice. He claps his hands together and winces at the loud noise it makes. Nonetheless, attention is drawn to him.

Junmyeon wants to shrink away from the eyes. He feels like they are prying away his skin, scratching back his every layer and searching for secrets that he has long since hidden.

“Well done on the concert,” Junmyeon says, voice cracking midway through his words. _Voice crack, at this age? Are you sure you’re not still a teenager? You’ve certainly got the mental stability of one… What, with overreacting to every little thing you’re told._

Junmyeon whips around. No one is there. “Would you fucking shut up?” he yells. The blank space stares back at him. There is silence. “Just leave me alone!” Junmyeon continues, hurling abuse at the empty air.

His knees tremble and Junmyeon crumples onto the ground. Tears drip down his face, carving rivulets into his cheeks and tracing angry, red lines across his face.

 _Really?_ The single word brings more torment to Junmyeon than anything else. He can hear the disappointment, the anger, the embarrassment, the hatred. Maybe it’s harder to accept because it means he’s crazy.

He hates himself, but from a second person’s perspective. Junmyeon has always hated himself, though, so maybe, it makes no difference. The Voice had made sure to establish that well before Junmyeon had been old enough to understand what it meant.

Someone comes up behind him and wraps long, warm arms around him. Junmyeon shivers and trembles and sobs wrack his body, making him feel empty and hollow.

 _Pull yourself together. This is not good enough._ Junmyeon cries harder. If this was his breaking point, Junmyeon wonders why it feels so freeing. With each tear that drips down his face, he can imagine a thousand lies he had told pouring out of his body. Regrets and harsh words pooling around his feet.

The lies that he had told for years are disappearing. Except, they’re not. Not really. They’re just piling up in front of him. Rather than carrying them internally, Junmyeon will have to lug them around physically. He will reabsorb them eventually. He always does.

Junmyeon's stomach clenches and he leans forwards and wretches. He is crying hard, too hard for him to be able to understand what is going on. Somewhere behind him, a person is whispering in his ear.

It reminds Junmyeon of The Voice. He writhes in the person’s grip and squirms his way free. Slumping to the ground, he thrashes helplessly. Someone is screaming and Junmyeon does not know if it is him. He can feel the rawness in his throat, though, so maybe it is.

Junmyeon does not know. Junmyeon does not care.

There are people speaking. From all directions, people are saying things. It goes over Junmyeon's head. It is too hard to understand. Tears seep into his skin.

The Voice cackles. _They’ll all know you’re insane now._ Junmyeon cries harder. He cries himself into darkness and eventually, into sleep.

The Voice does not disappear.

 

 

 

 

Junmyeon spends the next morning in bed, tossing and turning fitfully. He feels unproductive and useless where he lies and he hates it.

 _Useless leader. Useless leader. Useless leader._ Junmyeon hears The Voice and he agrees with it. After all, what is Junmyeon good for? He is not skilled enough to help his members. His friends are limited in number, even more so than they had been when he was the awkward, bullied kid in primary school. He certainly cannot stop his members leaving the group.

They’ve lost three members under his charge. He’s obviously doing something wrong. _Yes, you are._

“Shut up,” Junmyeon murmurs, facing the wall. “Leave me alone.”

“I’m sorry,” someone mumbled from behind him. Junmyeon looks around, but he’s too late and the back of the person is already disappearing out of the door.

_Well, no wonder your friends hate you if you talk to them like that. Bah, and you wonder why you have so few? You can’t even keep the ones you have now._

The Voice is right…

Another person comes into the room. Yixing. He recognises the dark hair, baggy jumper and trademark expression. He appears blurry, but that is probably because Junmyeon is not wearing his glasses.

Speaking of which – Junmyeon cannot remember taking out his contact lenses the night before. He can only suppose that someone did it for him because his eyes are not burning in the way that they usually do when he forgets.

“Will you speak to me?” Yixing asks. “Jongin said that you told him to go away.” His voice holds no trace of accusation, but it is all Junmyeon can hear. He flinches away.

“No?” Yixing says. “Okay, then. I’ll sit here. Kyungsoo said he’s bringing some porridge, or soup, or something.”

 _You’ll offend him if you don’t eat._ Junmyeon feels nauseous at the thought of food. His stomach flips, but he swallows back the bile rising in his throat.

True to Yixing’s word, Kyungsoo appears a few minutes later with a bowl balanced on one hand and cup clutched in the other. He deposits them on the bedside table and then frets of the state of Junmyeon’s blankets.

Kyungsoo clucks his tongue as he smooths down the duvet and puffs up the pillow that Junmyeon has reflexively curled away from. “Want something to eat?” He prods gently at Junmyeon’s arm. “You need to eat something.”

Junmyeon does not trust himself to speak. Kyungsoo, however, appears to take that as a sign to proceed and he picks up the bowl. “Do you want to feed yourself?”

“Not hungry,” Junmyeon breathes.

Yixing claps Kyungsoo on the shoulder and leaves the room with a last, encouraging smile. Kyungsoo shakes his head after Yixing retreating back and sighs, taking Yixing’s previously abandoned seat.

“Not hungry is irrelevant,” Kyungsoo says briskly. “You have to eat something.”

Junmyeon turns away. He knows he is being rude. He can’t bring himself to care. _You’ll care once they’ve left you. All because you were a little, selfish idiot who was too proud to eat._

Kyungsoo puts the bowl back down and pulls Junmyeon into a seated position. “Just have a little,” he says. He picks up the spoon and scoops steaming, pureed something onto it.

He pushes the spoon towards Junmyeon, expectantly. Reluctantly, Junmyeon eats it. The mixture is tasteless and smooth. Junmyeon wants to hate it, but he can’t find a valid reason to do so. After all, it is completely tasteless and Junmyeon can't justify being so against something that Kyungsoo has spent energy on making. 

Kyungsoo continues to feed Junmyeon, spoon by spoon until almost half of the food has disappeared. That’s when Junmyeon’s stomach contracts. He twists in the bed, violently, and leans over the side.

There is a nasty, splattering noise as vomit splashes onto the wooden floor. It misses Kyungsoo by a mere few inches. Kyungsoo obviously sighs, even though he tries to disguise it.

“All alright in here?” Minseok asks, sticking his head around the door.

Kyungsoo shakes his head and goes to stand by Minseok. “Bring a sponge and a bucket, would you?” he requests. His voice is low – perhaps in an effort to stop Junmyeon from hearing it.

Minseok nods solemnly and disappears again.

Embarrassment dawns on Junmyeon and he feels even worse than before. “M’sorry,” he says. _Disgusting, really. You should be grovelling at their feet – look at the mess you’ve made._

“You’re sick,” Kyungsoo says plainly. “You don’t need to be sorry.”

Minseok returns with the bucket and silently brings it into the room. He begins to wipe up the mess on the floor and it makes Junmyeon feel even worse. He tries to crawl out of bed to help Minseok, but Kyungsoo pushes him back under the covers.

“Sleep,” Kyungsoo says softly. “You need it.”

Junmyeon obeys and tries not to read too far into Kyungsoo’s words.

No one mentions The Voice.

 

 

 

 

Junmyeon ends up in the CEO’s office a week later. He is alone with the man, sans for a bucket that sits in the corner as the last resort. _Don’t need to embarrass yourself any more, do you?_ Junmyeon shakes his head and in the back of his mind, he can see a satisfied smirk. _Didn’t think so._

The CEO looks perplexed. “Junmyeon,” he says awkwardly. “I’ve had extensive discussions with your manager, as well as several of your members, your doctor and some mental health experts.”

A sense of calm drifts over Junmyeon. He no longer cares. He’s beyond it all – officially too done with everything to be bothered by anything else that occurs.

“We’ve decided to put you on hiatus,” Sooman continues. He looks uncomfortable. “The company is going to organise a psychiatrist for your problem with-“ he consults the papers lying in front of him, “this… voice.”

“Okay,” Junmyeon says. He smiles dreamily. The Voice is calm inside of his head. For a brief moment, he finds solstice in this room that usually only spells sleepless nights, sadness and tears.

Flustered, Sooman clears his throat. “It’s up to you if you want to remain in the dorms or whether you want to return home. We will find a psychiatrist who can work with either. After all, your family do live in Seoul. It's not too far away.”

“That’s fine,” Junmyeon says.

“And, we’ll reassess in three months,” Sooman concludes, looking up from his notes. His eyes glimmer with something that Junmyeon cannot place.

“Is that all?” Junmyeon asks, staring out of the window behind Sooman’s desk.

Sooman shakes his head. “Not quite.” He breathes in slowly and exhales. “Withdrawal will be effective immediately. All schedules cancelled. An official notice will be released announcing that you’re taking time off due to health issues.”

Junmyeon nods. “Can I go? I want to go home.”

“Go home, then, Junmyeon.”

The Voice is quiet, but Junmyeon knows it will not remain that way for long.

 

 

 

 

 

Meeting his psychiatrist is something quite unlike what Junmyeon had expected. He had thought of white walls, white coats, stern faces, locked doors and recording cameras.

Instead, what he finds is a short man, maybe a little older than he is, in a dorky sweater vest and thinly-rimmed glasses. His shoes are polished, but not overly so, and his briefcase is heavy with paper and pens.

Junmyeon sits on a chair in his parents' living room, twiddling his thumbs and looking around. The psychiatrist is opposite him, straight-backed on the couch.

“Junmyeon,” he says calmly. Too calmly. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Junmyeon nods. _He’s luring you into a false sense of security. Don’t submit._ This is not a battle of submitting or not submitting, but Junmyeon listens to The Voice. His walls remain up, tinted, one-way glass that only he can see through.

“My name is Kyuwon. You can address me as such.”

Junmyeon might, but The Voice never will.

 

 

 

 

“Hyung, I’ve missed you!” Baekhyun crows. He throws himself through the door to Junmyeon’s mother's house and crushes Junmyeon’s form – much thinner than it used to be – in a tight hug.

Behind Baekhyun, Sehun nods silently, severe face unwilling to break into a smile. Jongin elbows him with more force than he has to and the pair of them both tumble over the threshold.

“I think we all have,” Minseok agrees. “It’s been a while, Junmyeon.”

 _And, it’s your fault, don’t you know? Why would they have stayed away if they weren’t scared of you?_ Junmyeon forces the voice away. He plasters a smile on his face. “You’ve finished with promotions, then?”

“For now, anyway,” Jongdae says, joining them. The rest of the members wander into the house and Junmyeon leads them into the living room. “How did the assessment go, hyung?”

Junmyeon shrugs. “I’m taking more time off.” He doesn’t mention the breakdown he had yesterday. Or, the bandages that currently bind his wrists tightly under his shirt. Or, the blaring headache that a voice that never shuts up gives you. Those things don't have to be voiced.

Jongdae nods empathetically, but Junmyeon cannot help but think that he’ll never understand. How could he? Junmyeon would never wish for anyone to be able to understand. It would be horrible to wish this upon someone else.

“We’ve missed you,” Kyungsoo says. He blushes lightly. “It’s been hard without our leader.”

 _They never needed you. He’s lying._ “I’m sure you’ve been fine,” Junmyeon replies. “You views and ratings have certainly gone up.” He forces a laugh. “Maybe, you’re better off without me!”

Yixing shakes his head quickly. Junmyeon worries that he might snap it off. “We’d never be better without you,” he says. “We’re nothing without you.”

 _He’s lying. They’re lying. Everything is a lie. Did you really think they’d ever tell you the truth?_ Junmyeon puts a hand to his temple and massages gently, scratching at his hairline and the skin surrounding.

Minseok pulls his hand away, distressed. “Junmyeon, don’t!” Junmyeon looks at his fingernails and sees blood glittering like rubies on the sharp ends. “Where’s your medical kit?” Minseok asks. He holds Junmyeon's forearms tightly, steering them away from his head.

“Bathroom.”

Minseok leaves the room and Chanyeol takes Junmyeon’s hands in his place. “Honestly, hyung, how long has this been going on for?”

“What’s going on?” Junmyeon asks.

“Goddamnit,” Chanyeol says. “This, hyung! This! You’re a shell. You’re sitting here, like a perfect little ragdoll, letting anyone do anything!”

Chanyeol storms away and Baekhyun casts an apologetic look before disappearing after him. _See. There go your friends. And you even thought that they cared for you. How cute…_

“Shut up,” Junmyeon whispers. “Shut up. Shut up. Shut up!” He stands up and scrambles for his room. The shocked faces of the others and tears glimmering in Jongin's eyes do not register in his brain.

Inside, it is dark. The curtains are drawn, the bed is not made, the desk is messy. Junmyeon curls up in a corner and cries.

Minseok comes in, antiseptic cream clutched in his hand. He flicks the light on and closes the door behind him. “God, Junmyeon… If we had known it was this bad, we would have found you help so much earlier,” he says, sitting next to Junmyeon.

_Don’t get too close. He’ll leave you like the other three._

Junmyeon leans into Minseok’s chest and cries. It goes on and on and on and on and on and eventually, someone knocks on the door. Kyungsoo enters and whispers into Minseok’s ear before disappearing again.

Minseok says nothing but cradles Junmyeon like he is an infant. It’s the most reassurance he’s had in weeks. Even Junmyeon’s parents gave up on drawing their own son out of his room.

“I’m not okay,” Junmyeon sobs into Minseok’s chest. “I’m not okay.”

“I know,” Minseok breathes into his ear. “I know you’re not okay and we’re going to get you more help, okay?” He kisses the top of Junmyeon’s head and rocks him gently. “I’ll contact your psychiatrist and we’ll sort something out.”

Junmyeon shudders and collapses, boneless. “I just want him back. Why did he have to become so mean?”

 _Me? Well, Junmyeon, should I be offended? After all we’ve been through?_ “I just want my mind back,” Junmyeon weeps.

“It will come back,” Minseok whispers. “But, it takes time. It doesn’t happen overnight.”

Junmyeon nods into Minseok’s chest and sniffles quietly. “You’ll stay with me, though?”

“Of course I will.”

_Liar._

The Voice is unforgiving.

 

 

 

 

“It got worse when they left?” Kyuwon says gently. He does not take notes like Junmyeon had envisioned psychiatrists would but instead faces Junmyeon with a tranquil face.

Junmyeon shrugs and then nods. _Don’t lie, Junmyeon. I’ve always been here and you know it._

“Can you contact them?” Kyuwon asks. “I think it might be good for you to talk to them again. It’s clear that those events triggered something.” He gives Junmyeon a winning smile. “It’s been several years, now. I think you need to do it now, rather than later.”

“Okay.”

Junmyeon agrees, but The Voice does not.

 

 

 

 

“Phone numbers?” Minseok says slowly. They are sitting outside, under a shady, bright pink umbrella. Minseok takes a long sip of his iced coffee. “I only have Luhan’s, but I think he can get you in contact with all of them from him. I know at least Sehun has Tao’s, too.”

“Thanks,” Junmyeon murmurs, hiding his arms under the table. The long sleeves are out of place in the summer heat and it makes Junmyeon feel uncomfortably warm. “Can I please have it?”

Minseok brings his phone out from his pocket and drags a spare napkin towards himself. “Do you have a pen?” Junmyeon wordlessly hands him a ballpoint and shifts forwards in his chair, tentatively.

Languidly, Minseok copies down the phone number and writes Luhan’s name in large, bold characters at the top of the paper. “Here you go,” he says, pushing it back towards Junmyeon.

“Thanks,” Junmyeon repeats. He pockets the paper and tries to forget about its significance. It’s much harder than it should be.

Minseok waves a hand. “It’s no problem,” he says. “I’m glad you’re trying to contact them again… I heard that Yifan tried really hard to call you…” He trails off, as if hopeful that Junmyeon will pick up on a hint and explain himself.

 _Is it any of his business?_ No, it isn’t, but Junmyeon wants to tell Minseok, anyway. He wants to tell someone because it’s a heavy weight on his heart that pulls him down.

“We were in love, I think…” Junmyeon says staring into the distance. “He left, we broke up on bad terms.” Junmyeon’s bottom lip trembles. “And, it was all my fault. I didn’t mean to do it, but I did. And he’s gone.”

_Relationships are as fragile as spun glass. It takes one mistake and he's gone. Like the wind… See? All your fault._

Minseok’s eyes widen, but not in surprise. “It's okay, Junmyeon. Calm down,” he says, patting Junmyeon’s back gently. He sits back in his chair when he deems Junmyeon’s state of mental stability acceptable.

“You don’t seem surprised,” Junmyeon remarks a moment later, face still twitching dangerously.

“I’m not,” Minseok says simply. “I think most of us thought there was something there… I mean, you were practically attached at the hip and you were really subdued when he left…”

 _Idiot. You didn’t hide it well enough._ Junmyeon’s façade cracks into a million pieces. “I miss him,” Junmyeon whimpers. “I miss him so much and it was all my fault.”

Minseok finishes his coffee and stands up. He walks around to Junmyeon and hugs him gently. “C’mon,” he says, pulling Junmyeon out of his seat. “Let’s take a walk.”

Junmyeon snuffles in agreement and allows Minseok to pull him away from the small café and into a nearby park. The light that filters onto the path is a light green from the leaves of the trees.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” Minseok says, looking around. “I think, Junmyeon, that you’re kind of like this light, you know?”

Shaking his head, Junmyeon remains silent and watches Minseok carefully.

“Well, this light has travelled thousands of kilometres to reach this point and just as it’s about to reach its target, it’s obscured, forced to become something else, change colours, change directions but it still reaches its destination, doesn’t it? Sure, it’s kind of different to how it was planned to be, but it’s prettier for it and it did find the end eventually.

“You’ve travelled a long way to get here, Junmyeon. You’ve been forced to change your plans, change your direction, change your image, but you’re not done yet. It’s the last hurdle for the light to get to the ground and this isn’t your last hurdle, but you’ll reach your target too, changed to a better version of yourself.”

Junmyeon turns away. “That didn’t even make sense, hyung.” A smile cracks his lips, though.

Minseok laughs, clear and ringing. “Maybe not, but it made sense to me, didn’t it? As long as it makes sense to you, that’s all it has to do.”

Snorting, Junmyeon shakes his head. “I don’t think there would be many teachers who would quite agree with you on that one.”

Minseok winks. “That’s perfectly fine. I don’t go to school, anymore.”

Junmyeon giggles and averts his eyes to the birds that flutter high above them. Their majestic wings are spread as the soar easily through the air, cutting through the wind with grace.

They’re beautiful.

Junmyeon smiles until his eyes disappear into crescents and his teeth show. It’s the first time he has smiled in who-can-remember-how-long. It’s liberating and terrifying all at once.

Has he reached a point where he cares too little or a point where he cares too much? What’s worse? Junmyeon doesn’t care. He chases the feeling of happiness that bubbles in his chest for the first time in months, in years.

It’s so nice. He wants more. Junmyeon is greedy for happiness.

Even if The Voice does not want happiness, Junmyeon does.

 

 

 

 

The front door bangs open and Junmyeon looks out of the living room door. His mother bustles in, hands loaded with shopping bags. “I’m home,” she calls lightly.

“Thanks, mum,” Junmyeon says. He drops his phone and the napkin onto the coffee table and walks in the kitchen. Without saying anything further, he begins to unpack the bags, working in silent synchrony with his mother.

Eventually, his mum pushes him out of the kitchen. “It’s nice to see you out of your room, Myeonnie, but why don’t you go and phone your friends? It’s been a while since you last had them around here…”

 _For good reason._ “Okay, mum,” Junmyeon says. He kisses her cheek. “Thanks.”

He leaves the kitchen and sits, cross-legged by the table. His heart pounds much too quickly to be normal as he thumbs the edge of the worn napkin. Squeamishly, he adjusts his glasses.

Junmyeon picks up the phone and digit by digit, punches the number into the call function. It sits on the dial number, waiting to be rung.

It’s so tantalisingly close, but much too far away. Junmyeon can’t bring himself to press the call button. He feels too sick.

 _He’ll hate you, anyway. It’s not like there’s any point._ He drops the phone onto the table again and cradles his head in his hands. A familiar weight is dropping onto his shoulders and it’s too heavy. Too heavy.

It draws him downwards into a chasm. He’s falling into a hole with no escape.

The phone beeps and the number deletes and the screen goes black. Junmyeon is back to square one. He makes himself turn the phone on and retypes the number.

This time, the screen seems to glare a little bit brighter, a little bit more intimidating. Junmyeon wants to shut it off and hide it away. He never wants to see it again.

_Just like how they never want to see you again._

Junmyeon’s mother comes into the living room, two cups of tea clutched in her hands. She sits on the couch next to Junmyeon and hands him one of the cups.

The familiar scent of oolong tea. It reminds him of late nights with Yifan, curled up next to him with tea and a movie. The memory is too nice and it makes Junmyeon’s insides ache with the familiarity of it.

While oolong is not an overwhelmingly popular tea in South Korea, Junmyeon’s mother has always liked it. Junmyeon grew up with it and had long since come to relish in its smell and taste.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?” she asks, surveying the serviette and phone on the table in front of them. “Trouble phoning someone?”

Junmyeon nods and takes a long draught of his tea. The richness is soothing for his throat and he swallows.

“You type the number, I’ll dial,” she says, stroking Junmyeon’s hair out of his face. “I’ll be here the entire time.”

 _She’ll find out._ Junmyeon’s mother is still his mother. She’s the one person he trusts more than anyone else to find out everything. He picks up the phone – it’s turned off again – and presses in the number for the third time.

Junmyeon’s mother takes the mobile and presses the little green phone. She puts it on speakerphone and hands it back to Junmyeon. It’s too late. The phone is ringing and ringing and ringing.

“Hello? It’s Luhan,” Luhan says in rapid Mandarin.

Junmyeon’s voice catches in his throat and he can’t make himself speak. _It’s your fault. It’s your fault. It’s your fault._

“Hello? Look, I can't hear you right now. Maybe my connection is bad. I’m going to hang up.” Just like that, there is an end of phone call dial tone, and it’s over. Junmyeon keels forwards, teacup shaking precariously in his free hand.

“Oh, baby,” Junmyeon’s mother says gently. She hugs him tightly. “Come on – Let’s go again. You can do it.”

She rings back the same number. Luhan picks up the phone in two seconds flat.

“Is this the same person?” Luhan asks. “Can you hear me? Is this working?” The Mandarin is so fast, Junmyeon can barely understand it.

Junmyeon takes a shaky breath. “Hyung… It’s me,” he says in Korean. His brain is not functioning competently enough to continue the Mandarin. He sticks, instead, with the language he is most familiar with.

“Who? Sorry – I’m going to need a name,” Luhan says, switching to Korean and sounding very confused.

“Junmyeon,” he says. “I… Oh, God, I-“ He takes in a fast breath. His breathing is erratic and he can’t calm it down. He’s irrationally scared and he doesn’t know why.

Luhan, on the other side of the phone, sucks in a breath. “Junmyeon,” he says evenly. “It’s been a while. Why are you phoning?”

_He hates you, Junmyeon. Can’t you hear it?_

“Junmyeon?” Luhan repeats after a minute has passed. “Are you still there?”

Heart thumping, Junmyeon struggles to get a word out. His mother gently strokes his arm and rubs reassuring circles into his hand. Junmyeon’s throat closes up and he can’t breathe. He can’t breathe.

 _Might be better off dead, anyway._ And, God, The Voice is right. Junmyeon closes his eyes and a sob tears itself out of his throat. He bends forwards and the tea spills over his lap.

It is boiling hot, but he barely notices it. The air is too thin, like he is trapped at the top of a mountain. His breaths are shuddering, sucking in air but failing to register in his lungs.

“Junmyeon? Fuck – What’s going on?” Luhan sounds frantic.

 _Don’t get too ahead of yourself. Probably a farce._ Junmyeon’s vision grows spotty. He scratches hysterically at his arms, trying to bring feeling back to his body. He doesn’t notice his mother’s horrified whimper or the wetness that suddenly coats his hands.

His vision skews horribly as he falls forwards. There’s a bang and a pain in his temple and then, darkness.

The Voice cackles victoriously.

 

 

 

 

A blaring beep brings Junmyeon back to earth. His blinks his eyes open, painfully slow and it’s like fighting against the sea. Almost impossible.

The world is white and Junmyeon wonders what happened to the pretty green light and the birds. They’re certainly not here, in the dreary, monochromatic world. He blinks again and the scene comes into further relief. There are shades of white, ranging to dark greys, but there are no colours.

There are no colours until he catches sight of the three people sitting at the side of his bed. Sehun, Kyungsoo and Jongin all appear wan and stressed. Their eyes are drawn into frowns and creases mar their foreheads.

Junmyeon groans. Immediately, attention is on him. Kyungsoo races out of the room, while Sehun and Jongin clamber to his side in all of their beautiful colour. They beam at him, smiles as bright as the sun itself.

Happiness. Junmyeon sees it in their expressions, their postures, their fast words. He wants to take some. He misses happiness.

“Hyung, you’re awake,” Sehun says, relieved. He takes Junmyeon’s hand and squeezes it. “Do you remember why you’re here?”

To the best of his ability, Junmyeon shakes his head. His throat feels raw like he had swallowed sandpaper and grit, and he does not want to risk trying to talk. His head, though, pounds at the movement and Junmyeon regrets it immediately.

“Your mum was completely distraught,” Jongin says softly. “Apparently, when you were phoning someone, you had a panic attack and ended up tearing open a heap of cuts on your arms and hitting your head really hard on the edge of the coffee table. You needed stitches, hyung… Heaps of them.”

Junmyeon smiles at him, reassuringly. Once Jongin has averted his eyes, Junmyeon lifts his arms and stares at them.

Heavily bandaged with strapping tape and gauze, his arms more closely resemble clubs than anything else. Junmyeon bites back the urge to laugh at the thought, knowing that it would not be wise to do so - now of all times.

Kyungsoo reappears, a doctor by his side and Junmyeon’s mother behind them. Her eyes are puffy and red. Junmyeon aches with remorse, wanting nothing more than to stop his mother’s pain.

 _You’re the cause. It’s your fault._ Tears leak from his eyes at the sight of her. She rushes forwards and perches by Junmyeon’s side, running her hand through his hair as if he was three again.

It’s warm and it’s nice. Junmyeon melts into it, just like he did when he was small.

“You’re okay,” she mutters again and again and again. “You’re okay. I love you so much.”

Junmyeon begins crying and so does his mother. His friends watch, bemused, but the doctor does not appear surprised. She watches on silently, clipboard held closely to her chest.

Junmyeon’s mother pulls herself away from Junmyeon and smiles at him, tears still shining in her eyes. “I’ll just let the doctors check you out,” she says gently. She stands away and the doctor moves forwards.

She works in relative silence, occasionally asking for him to recount how a part of his body feels or reacts. It’s repetitive but therapeutic. Junmyeon is more than willing to take it.

The doctor backs away and leaves the room, bleached coat swishing behind her authoritatively. Junmyeon stares after her, blankly, until his mother takes his hand and begins mumbling under her breath.

It sounds like prayers.

_You don’t deserve them._

Junmyeon knows he doesn’t. He takes his mother's hands in his own, larger, bandaged, scared ones and holds tightly. They’re a lifeline and he’s going to drop off the face of the earth if he lets go.

“I’m sorry,” Junmyeon whispers. “Mum, I’m so sorry.”

Junmyeon’s mother hisses his forehead. “Baby, you don’t need to be sorry. This is as hard on you as it is on us. We’re going to get you through this, okay? Together.” She presses another kiss to his temple. “I love you – Don’t forget it. There are always people who will love you and there are always people who are supporting you.”

_Are you sure?_

“I love you, too, mum,” Junmyeon says. He drops his head and stares at the crisp linen on his bed.

His mum leaves a bit later and then, more of his friends appear. This time, Minseok and Baekhyun stand uncomfortably in the doorway. Junmyeon gestures for them to come in, and they do.

“I need to talk with you about something,” Minseok says very quickly. His words blur together into a mess, but Junmyeon can still understand. “It’s about… Well, Luhan and Yifan and Tao.”

Junmyeon sucks in a breath too quickly and chokes on it. Minseok doesn’t wait for him to recover before continuing. “You were phoning Luhan, right? When this happened, I mean. He completely freaked out. He thought it was all his fault or something.”

Biting his lip, Junmyeon refuses to face Minseok or Baekhyun. He can tell that Minseok is stressed and he can imagine Baekhyun sitting, small and uncertain, in the linoleum chair looking completely out of place.

“He contacted everyone else,” Minseok says. “Tao and Yifan then contacted us and long story short, they kind of know what’s happening now.”

“They know?” Junmyeon croaks, heading whipping up to find Minseok’s gaze. “But – no! I don’t want them to know. It’s my fault, not theirs. They shouldn’t be worried about me.”

Minseok chews on the inside of his cheek. “Yeah, I’m afraid it’s a little late for that now, Junmyeon. They all know, and God, do you realise how much they all still care for you?”

_They don’t. He’s lying._

“Yifan was half hysterical when he called me.” Minseok sounds aghast and tired. He sounds like he just wants everything to be over. Junmyeon sympathises with that.

“Yifan’s coming over,” Minseok says softly. “Tao wanted to, but he’s filming right now. Luhan said that he might come in a week or so, if he can find the time.”

Junmyeon shakes his head frantically. “No. I don’t want him here. Don’t let him come.”

“I don’t have a say in this,” Minseok says sadly. He gives Junmyeon a pitying look and averts his eyes.

Baehyun takes over the conversation. “You should also know: fans found out. They know that you’re in the hospital and they know that something’s wrong. Chanyeol is keeping a fairly close eye on the news feeds, though. He'll tell us if something else gets out.”

Dread rises up within Junmyeon. He feels sick. The thought of everyone knowing… He shudders and tunes out of whatever else Baekhyun is saying. It’s too grim to think about the repercussions of his fans knowing.

 _You’re assuming you still have fans left, Junmyeon. I mean, how long has it been, now? Six, seven months? Longer?_ Junmyeon screams into his knees and forces The Voice out of his head.

Junmyeon is exhausted. He wants quiet. He wants his mind back. He wants things to go back to how they were before.

“Oh, shit,” Bakehyun mutters. He disappears out of the door and reappears with a nurse. Liquids pump into Junmyeon’s system and he falls into sleep.

The Voice grins and coos sweet nothings into Junmyeon’s ears.

 

 

 

 

When Junmyeon meets Yifan again, it’s awkward. He sits on a park bench, staring at the patters the leaves have traced into the gravelled path. Yifan sits next to him, slumped in a chair, looking pathetic.

“Well, are we going to talk?” Yifan asks eventually.

 _No. Not if we can avoid it._ “I suppose you didn’t come all this way for no reason,” Junmyeon admits quietly. “What do you want to say?”

“Me? What do _I_ want to say?” Yifan’s forehead creases in lines. “What about you? Aren’t you the one who I should be looking at for this mess?”

Junmyeon sniffs and leans back on the bench. A dark cloud drifts in above his head and begins pouring rain on him alone. It’s perfectly dry, but Junmyeon can feel imaginary drips falling from his hair and nose.

“I’m sorry,” Yifan says softy. “That was out of place. But, I think we both have things to apologise, for. Don’t you?”

Junmyeon nods. “I suppose we do.” He sighs, leans back, leans forwards, resits the urge to run and flops over himself. “Yifan, I’m sorry. I’m so, so fucking sorry.” He feels his throat clamming up. “You never deserved any of what I did to you.

“I was over controlling and scared, but that’s no excuse. I practically forced you into doing things against your better interest and health because I didn’t want to be alone. And, I deserve every bit of repercussion I get for it. Yifan, just, _shit_ , I’m so sorry. You never deserved any of it.”

Yifan takes Junmyeon’s hands and traces circles into it. It’s the best way to calm Junmyeon down when he’s worked himself up and Yifan clearly remembers that without effort.

“My turn,” Yifan says. He squeezes Junmyeon’s hands lightly. “I’m sorry, Junmyeon. I’m sorry for the things that I said when I left. I’m sorry for distancing myself from you. I’m sorry that I obviously did such harm to you.”

He exhales slowly. “I can’t say that I didn’t mean to hurt you, because I did. I was bitter and angry. But, I regret it so much now. Myeonnie, I’m so sorry.”

“I forgive you,” Junmyeon says.

There is silence, sans for the leaves dropping from the trees. Autumn has arrived now. The light shades of orange and red are drawing shapes and figures and sending sparkling puddles into beautiful kaleidoscopes of colour.

“Can we talk about us?” Yifan prompts. “I’ve missed you, Myeonnie.”

Junmyeon nods. “I’ve missed you, too.”

“I don’t think I ever stopped loving you,” Yifan whispers.

The words are even prettier than the light.

For once, The Voice agrees.

 

 

 

 

Recovery never comes overnight. Junmyeon cannot switch his mind on and off as he pleases to make himself better. It’s easier with people by his side, though.

There are up days and there are down days. There are days where the marks on his arms are torn up into shredded messes and there are days where he feels on top of the world.

Junmyeon begins proper medication cycles. There are too many pills for him to name them all. They live in little, colour coordinated pots, though, so Junmyeon doesn’t forget them.

Yifan has to go back to China and Junmyeon bids him farewell in privacy. Luhan comes out a few days later and amidst hugs and apologies, they talk.

Eventually, Junmyeon sees Zitao, as well. He is even taller than he was when he left and it makes Junmyeon feel very small.

It’s nice to talk to them again. It fills a hole in Junmyeon that was carved out of him all those years ago. Junmyeon is content.

The Voice does not fight.

 

 

 

 

The meeting comes one year and five months after Junmyeon officially went on haitus. Sooman sits behind the desk in his office chair, hidden by computers and avoiding Junnmyeon’s gaze.

“Your call,” Sooman says. He has two documents in front of him. One terminates Junmyeon’s contract for good, the other resigns to the company. Junmyeon’s hand shakes and the pen wobbles in his grip.

 _Think carefully, Junmyeon._ Junmyeon does. His mind flashes to his friends. The eight of them who remain in EXO.

Since Junmyeon’s haitus, they have completed three successful comebacks with Minseok as the stand in leader. _They don’t need you anymore._ They don’t need Junmyeon, but the realisation doesn’t make him sad.

Junmyeon is happy that his friends – really, they’re closer to his family – are flourishing without him. They will go on to be even greater than they are now. It makes Junmyeon proud, if a little bittersweet.

They don’t need him.

Junmyeon thinks to Kyuwon. The man’s gentle words warned him against continuing with stage life. He thinks Junmyeon’s brain and body would not be able to handle it a second time around.

Junmyeon agrees with him.

Junmyeon thinks of his childhood self and the dreams he had. He thinks of the years he spent in the company, singing and dancing and acting and speaking, trying to debut. He thinks of the friends he’s made – in his group, in his company and in wider circles.

Junmyeon remembers the numbers that sit on his phone, waiting to be called. He remembers the happy and sad pains of practice and the delight of being selected to debut.

He remembers that he has already achieved his dreams with a thousand times more success than he had ever imagined.

_Choose wisely._

Junmyeon twirls the pen once more in his hand and drags one piece of paper towards himself. He signs.

The Voice smiles at the decision.

 

 

 

 

Junmyeon has himself assessed for military service. He ends up in Grade 6; exempt in the name of mental health. "Too many medications, too much instability, too much time in hospital, too much of a liability," he is told in quiet voices as his papers are stamped and filed. 

That day, he leaves the military offices not knowing how he should feel. 

The Voice doesn't know, either.

 

 

 

 

 

Junmyeon travels. Armed with bottles of medication, a single, small suitcase and his passport, he departs Incheon International Airport alone. The smiles of his friends waving him off sit warmly in his chest.

Junmyeon sees the world. He visits cities he has only heard about. He sees monuments that draw his breath away. He meets people who reach out to him and touch him even through a language barrier divides every form of communication except vague gestures and poor, scribbly drawings.

He makes friends.

He cries for homesickness.

He basks in liberty.

Junmyeon ends up in Guangzhou with Yifan.

The Voice does not say a word.

 

 

 

 

When Junmyeon returns to Seoul a year later, there is a reception waiting for him. Eight members end up standing there with posters, heavily wrapped in masks and sunglasses, trying to avoid recognition.

It doesn’t really work. There are cameras flashing. It is strange. It’s been two and a half years since Junmyeon was last exposed to this. He steels himself, though, and strides out of the airport easily.

His friends boarder him with smiles and questions about his trip, as if Junmyeon hasn’t sent them photos, emails, text messages and spent long hours talking with them on the phone. He doesn’t mind, though.

It’s nice to be talking with them again, face to face.

The Voice agrees.

 

 

 

 

Junmyeon goes back to university. He studies English, Mandarin and education.

The Voice supports his choices and helps him. The malicious beast it grew into has shrunk again. It had returned to being his friend, even if it does sometimes loose its temper in terrifying fits.

Three years later, Junmyeon packs up all of his possessions and moves to Canada with Yifan.

Happily, The Voice assents his judgement.

 

 

 

 

EXO disbands the next year. The members move in all directions. Some leave the entertainment industry for good, some move to remote parts of South Korea, some carry on and go on to be even greater.

Their bond never dies and neither does their group chat.

The Voice still laughs when it reads their messages.

 

 

 

 

Recovery is an ongoing battle. Good days, bad days, in the middle days, days Junmyeon just wants to forget and days he never wants to let go of. Everything is new and a challenge.

The Voice never goes away, but Junmyeon learns to control it. He learns to harness its power and medicate its cruelty. It never dies, but Junmyeon is stronger than it is.

“What’re you up to?” Yifan asks, resuming his seat next to Junmyeon. He runs his hands through Junmyeon’s hair and kisses his temple softly. A ring reflects the soft lighting of the room.

Junmyeon shrugs and gestures to the piles of paper in front of him. “Marking. These kids… One day they’ll learn the difference between the identifier and subject particle, right?”

Yifan laughs. “Maybe, maybe. Bare in mind, you’re a teacher who natively speaks Korean. I still get it wrong and I’ve been learning for over fifteen years. You’re just lucky you were bought up speaking the language.”

Junmyeon blushes slightly and drops his pen onto the table. Exam marking can wait for another day. He snuggles into Yifan’s side and rests his head on his shoulder. “I love you,” Junmyeon says.

“I love you, too,” Yifan replies.

 

The Voice is calm.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, you finished reading this - So, well done, I guess. You sat through 8k words and 21 pages of me being angsty over the winter holidays. 
> 
> This is me experimenting with different styles of writing and seeing how it goes. I hope you found it interesting :)
> 
>  
> 
> Written listening (primarily) to: Habitual Words - Vocal Unit, Seventeen 
> 
>  
> 
> _3 - 4 July, 2017_
> 
> ~~
> 
> Tumblr: [Oonymay](https://oonymay.tumblr.com)
> 
> Instagram: [Oonymay](https://www.instagram.com/oonymay/)


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